The Marvelous Misadventures of Sparky and tattatQ!
by MildredMaude
Summary: Two enemies find themselves colliding in an altogether different way than they had ever expected. Their tumultuous, violent relationship becomes ultimately self-destructive. Full summary inside. Not a crack!fic, despite the title.
1. Begin at the Beginning?

**Summary: **Two enemies find themselves colliding in an altogether different way than they had ever expected. Their tumultuous, violent relationship continues to have flagrant disregard for the rules, themselves, and consequently their well-beings while finding yet more new ways to destroy themselves. A thoroughly unhealthy affair with nowhere to go but down, two shadowed young boys who are thrust into men's shoes have no choice but to turn to the other. So near the end, what would it matter?

**Warnings: **Mature language, mild adult themes. This is a slash fic, kiddies, so if you don't like the boylove, please find the exit.

**Disclaimer:**I do not own Harry Potter. This is a plot bunny that got entirely out of control, and I do not make any money from it.

**Author's Notes: **You are completely welcome to review, and con-crit is encouraged, seeing as this is my (our) first fic. My associate (Maude) and I (Mildred) have divided the chapters into Sirius Black and Severus Snape's POV, respectively, with Snape first. Apologies for the awfulness that is this cliche. Also, I'm aware of the ridiculous name, but despite popular belief, this is _not_ actually a crack fic. What? I know. Consider it a tool of suspense! :D - **Mildred**.

**The Marvelous Misadventures of Sparky and tattat!Q**

**1. Begin at the Beginning?**

Severus Snape had an itch.

This particular sort of itch wasn't one to be relieved by jamming his knuckles into the fleshy creases of his nose or by absently plucking at the loose skin of his elbow. No, this itch was a different sort of itch altogether. No amount of lotion or Madame Pomfrey's Soothing Cream for Muggle chicken pox alleviated the constant crawling sensation inside his body. He had tried backscratchers, mud solutions, potions, spells **-** and as a last resort, he had even allowed Bellatrix to brutally scrape and scratch at his back with her long, gaudily painted and jeweled nails. His trial and error had resulted in nothing but failure and, at last, he was forced to come to one conclusion:

it was the boy's fault.

Of course, the mongrel wasn't pouring itching powder down Severus's robes at every opportunity - though, it must be said that he had been known to draw amusement time to time from watching Severus make the cruel decision of either leaving his robes on to suffer or stripping and exposing his naughty bits to the school. However, that wasn't the case this time. Had it been, the problem would have been solved long ago (after all, Severus _was_ well-practiced at slipping nasty sorts of poisons into his fellow peers' morning pumpkin juice). No, this particular boy, this abrasive, obnoxious Gryffindor - well, every time Severus just happened to catch a glimpse of those crazed silver eyes, he had a terrible habit of breaking out in a cold sweat and the scratching at phantom itches would commence.

Time and time again, Severus wondered if the boy's fevered touch would still the crawling. The thought was, of course, completely illogical.

But he could not help but wonder.

Severus stood forlornly in the fourth floor corridor, shoulders hunched against the chilly draft that ran through the castle, forehead pressed against the windowpane. He was not eager, you could say, to mosey off merrily to Potions. This, had any other being (living, dead, or otherwise) been made aware, would have most surely induced immediate heart failure. Severus Tobias Snape, Half-Blood Prince, Dark Arts entrepreneur, Death Eater-in-waiting, not eager for Potions? Yes, and Hagrid was interested in a haircut.

Severus, for what he was worth, had a curiously strong and stubborn streak of self-preservation. Often, he remained cool and collected in sticky situations, reason outweighing impulse and emotion. This nearly always resulted in a perfectly executed getaway, and when it didn't, the best course of action immediately sprang to mind. This was the way he liked it and was what he was accustomed to. Severus was not sure whether this particular gift was granted at birth or had been developed from years on end from hazy, petrified drunken nights with Tobias Snape. They were one in the same, he supposed. His memory struggled to reach a time and place in which such survival skills were not needed.

As of late, however, it had been thrown into sharp relief that he had taken his instincts for granted. There was only one being who was able to force Severus from his composed, carefully constructed state of mind, and he did so repeatedly, seemingly effortlessly. The icing on the cauldron cake was that this year, Sirius Black was in his Potions class.

He frowned in disdain at the gaggle of second year Hufflepuffs making their ungainly way in his general direction. They faltered at the sight of him, obviously not expecting him to interfere with their wonderful, sunny lives today, and visibly cringed in almost perfect unison. Severus simply scowled and glided further down the corridor, wrapping his filthy washtowel of a cloak around him as effectively as possible. He settled in a crook near a suit of armor around the corner, hopefully shielding himself further from the arctic zephyrs blowing rampant through Hogwarts. He squinted midnight orbs at the knight in question, scrutinizing it suspiciously for a moment. He had once had an incident. He didn't much like to talk about it.

He gazed at the rusting suit of armor as if searching for an answer. As for the question.. salvation or damnation? He didn't know. But _anything_ had to be better than this in between.

Years later, Severus would come to regret this conviction.

Rousing himself from his thoughts, Severus reluctantly began the journey to Defense Against the Dark Arts. After Defense Against the Dark Arts meant Charms, and after Charms meant Potions. Severus sighed. How dare that barbarian encroach upon his sanctuary? A sharp longing for the uninterrupted bliss that consumed Severus as he worked ran through his bones. Decadent, swirling fumes pervading his senses, the blinding mystery and magnificence of the art of brewing astounding him _every_ time, without fail..

From somewhere behind him, he heard a raucous, barking laugh. He froze, his concave stomach collapsing in on itself and then swelling inside his skin before retracting again. Severus barely managed to not heave right there in the corridor. The name, the face that was accompanied by that laugh literally made Severus sick. His vision blurred for a moment before he gathered his senses and placed his hand on his wand, just in case. Ghostly feelers caressed Severus' skin, and he subconsciously scratched at his neck.

_He_ was near. Venom practically welled in the Slytherin's mouth, his mouth twisting into a grimace. Hate boiled in his very veins, heart beating erratically in panic, loathing, fear, lust.

Severus blinked, backtracking for a moment. _Lust_? Severus resisted the urge to heave again as, yes, his skin heated, warming the sickly, bluish canvas. A feeling that he generally associated with Lucius and the nights they commence their perverted dance, trapped and wrapped up in each other in too many wrong, uncomfortable ways to count. The feeling was familiar. The subtle coloring of his haughty face, a smooth, innocent pink. The _un_subtle pooling of heat between his thighs, as well as a distinct moistness there. The ringing in his ears. The numbness in his toes. The haze over his eyes, the twitching of his fingers. Only now, as the infuriating beast rounded the corner, cronies in toe, in all his shining, sickening Gryffindor glory, everything increased tenfold with the added benefit of the insatiable itching for only £2.99. Severus nearly bit through his tongue trying to get a hold on himself. The sharp, copper taste of blood welled in his mouth and he scowled, taking three deep breaths, three steps back, three blinks before Sirius Black was taking back his air, pulling him four steps forward, and staring him straight in the eye.


	2. Uncomplicated and Complicated Matters

**Summary: **Two enemies find themselves colliding in an altogether different way than they had ever expected. Their tumultuous, violent relationship continues to have flagrant disregard for the rules, themselves, and consequently their well-beings while finding yet more new ways to destroy themselves. A thoroughly unhealthy affair with nowhere to go but down, two shadowed young boys who are thrust into men's shoes have no choice but to turn to the other. So near the end, what would it matter?

**Warnings: **Mature language, mild adult themes. This is a slash fic, kiddies, so if you don't like the boylove, please find the exit.

**Disclaimer: **I do not own Harry Potter. This is a plot bunny that got entirely out of control, and I do not make any money from it.

**Author's Notes: **Con-crit is welcome! (: My associate, Maude, wrote most of this chapter, and it is from Sirius's POV. **-Maude**

* * *

**The Marvelous Misadventures of Sparky and tattat!Q**

**2. Uncomplicated and Complicated Matters, Respectively.**

Sirius Black was a simple fellow. His two pleasures in life were playing tricks with his cohorts, the Marauders, and pissing off his family to the best of his ability. That was his creed, his life's motto, and he was happy.

Sirius grinned, running swiftly down the corridor with his friends. "For Prongs," he whispered to Moony. Lupin grinned at him, a tad weary of inflicting yet more pain upon their next victim, _Snivvy_, but undeniably excited for the adventure. Snape and the Marauders had quite an interesting history, after all. Ever since the students' first day at Hogwarts, fresh off the Hogwarts Express, they had developed a strong, immediate disliking toward the boy. Potter was the first, cursing him for some skirmish on the train, but his hatred grew when he realized that Snape was friendly with the skirt James was chasing. And, of course, being the close band of friends that they were, the rest of the Marauders followed suit in that hatred. Today, Lily Evans had been particularly unkind to James Potter, most likely by the influence of Severus Snape, and thus the Marauders sought revenge.

Eventually, they saw Snivellus. He turned sharply as he heard approaching footsteps, a flurry of billowing robes and tangles of raven hair. Sirius chuckled as the Slytherin's expression rapidly changed from apathy, to fear, to revulsion, to something indescribable, to hatred. He sauntered close to the dark boy, getting in his space before fisting a hand in his tatty robes and pulling him closer. "Hey, Snivvy," Sirius breathed, staring into Snape's bottomless black eyes. His victim sucked in a sharp breath before twisting his mouth into an ugly sneer.

"What do you want _this_ time, imbeciles?" he hissed, teeth and fists clenching as he attempted to stand tall. Sirius, with his keen eyes, saw him quiver just the slightest, and snapped his jaws, laughing. He let go of Snape's robes, circling him as a lion would a gazelle. He, along with James, were the worst to Severus.

"I just want to talk," Potter sang-song in a child's voice, laughing. The fine hairs on Sirius' neck stood on end, his entire body electrified with the excitement of the chase - a hunter and his prey. He despised the greasy git with a burning passion, and it was just one more thing that would upset his family; making enemies with a Slytherin was treason. That made it even better, made the product of their trickery even sweeter. He barked a harsh laugh directly into Snape's face, baring his teeth menacingly. He adored the power, savored towering over Snape as if he were a mere child and he, Sirius, his master. Generally speaking, he wasn't one for power trips, but something about Snape, the effeminate, frail body, perhaps, gave Sirius a rush stronger than any revenge he could ever hope to extract upon his family or any trick he could play on unsuspecting first years. Sirius, being the fairly uncomplicated thing he was, was perhaps not as alarmed as he should have been at this revelation. He took it in stride, this _thing_ that was possessing him, this overwhelming fascination with Snape. It had been building for years now and it came as little surprise now, he supposed, that all his aggression toward the slimy Slytherin was now expressing itself rather physically.

"Yeah, Snivvy," Sirius crooned, tauntingly fingering the Slytherin's slender neckline, his jaw, ghosting about him, murmuring things in his ear. Wide, obsidian eyes clenched shut in fear as Sirius was as brass as to grip little Snivellus by his hips, harshly digging his fingers into the tender flesh and sharp bone. Sirius was often overcome with the desire to mark Snape, to make him his, to _take him_. Sirius growled low in his throat and teasingly bit Snape's shoulder before moving away to join the others. Inside him, Padfoot keened at the loss of touch. He hushed it, pulling his wand and positioning himself around Prongs.

James shouted a mostly harmless jinx at Snape. The boy didn't put up a fight – just scowled and took what was given to him, most likely praying that if he ignored them, they would leave. _Oh, how wrong you are, little Snivelly_, Sirius thought. Snape knew he could not outrun them, knew he could not hide from them. What choice was he given, but to take his punishment? Sirius' blood sizzled, adrenaline seizing him in a glorious embrace. As the Marauders laughed and paraded around him as he lay pathetically on the ground, Sirius looked down at him. Sirius was unable to look away from the lithe form before him, laid out like a decadent feast. Lust and arousal brimmed inside of him nearly to the point of spilling over. As he saw the warring helplessness and rebellion in those eyes, eyes blacker than his robes or the Forbidden Forest or even Sirius' last name, Sirius' cock twitched. Ignoring it for now, he poked his wand at Snape's nose, whispering, "Run."


End file.
